


Far From Basic

by Megane



Category: Baldi's Basics (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, I have no regrets, Illusions, Puzzles, This Was a Dare and a Gift All at Once, fetch quests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 03:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16189583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megane/pseuds/Megane
Summary: Geralt goes to retrieve some "vital music" for Dandelion and finds himself in a sorcerer's godsforsaken game. And he realises he's not the only one who's been roped into this mess either.





	Far From Basic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Terminallydepraved](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for the ever so talented terminallydepraved: prized treasure in and blight on my life. You wanted this, you got it, dearest. As for everyone else, do enjoy.

Geralt tightened his grip on those infernal documents, not even caring if they were getting wrinkled from his fist. He pressed his back against the dark brick wall and grit his teeth. When he got out of this horrible school, he was going to give Dandelion a beating. The poet could take one or two hits, surely.

He took a deep breath, counted to three, and then peeked around the corner. He saw the flutterings of a dark coat disappear down an intersecting hall. Somewhere back where Geralt had come from and not too far from where he was standing now, there was the echoing _slap_ of a yardstick. If he wanted to move, he would have to do it now. Geralt whipped around the corner and shoved the papers in his side pack. Five more of these fucking things. _‘Dammit, Dandelion,’_ he thought bitterly as he lowered himself down and hustled around the corner.

     “I wanna play with someone,” a young creature in red warbled pitifully. Geralt scowled at the sound of her voice.

He was still unsure whether the creature was true or a horrible, paralyzing illusion. Regardless, he suspected it was a mimic—some rare, distant, feral relative of a doppelganger—but he wasn’t in the mood to stop and confirm that. If she caught him in that horrific skip rope again, it would be over. He stopped at an intersection where he heard the mimic’s voice go. The so called overseer of this place went this way as well, so he figured he was in the clear for now. Unfortunately, the slapping was getting closer. Geralt smothered the feeling of dread before it had a chance to swell and made a break for one of the classrooms.

The classroom door was already partially open, and he thrust it open as he ran inside. He saw another document sitting on the desk. As always, when he grabbed onto it, another spell ignited before his eyes. Simple mathematics and also a puzzle based on his signs. He gestured in the signs of Yrden, Igni, and Quen, and the defense spell broke easily. Geralt hastily added the new paper into his pack.

He ran out of the room without checking first, and oh, what a stupid thing to do. As soon as he exited, he broke to the left, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he heard (and sensed) the sound of something advancing on him. He barely had a moment to think — _‘Shit!’_ — before he heard:

     “No running in the halls.”

Since he was already making mistakes, Geralt glanced over his shoulder and saw one of the two higher vampires following after him. Dettlaff partially emerged out of his mist form and reached both hands towards Geralt. There was something powerfully intimidating in seeing Dettlaff emerge from his mist like a straight-faced specter. Geralt’s heart rate accelerated, and he was far too distracted by the figure gaining on him to attempt to lower it. Dettlaff’s fingers were still smoking when they came in contact with Geralt. At first, it was a scrape of nails then the slide of fingers against cloth, and finally, Geralt felt the unrelenting firmness of Detlaff’s hold.

“Let– go–!” Geralt grunted. He strained and tugged his arm. Sadly, he already knew there was no way to free himself. He flicked his head up to meet Dettlaff’s mesmerizing blue eyes. He could only stare for a second before his breath was stolen and the halls of the school dissolved around him. He felt weightless, hyper aware and less at the same time. He thought of his surroundings and tried to will them back into existence, but he had no control. He was, most literally, in Dettlaff’s currently misty hands.

When they rematerialised, Geralt took a deep gasp of stale air. With the movement, he felt his lungs reform. It was brief but just as unpleasant. Dettlaff shoved him forward, and Geralt’ was unsteady enough to stumble. Dettlaff brushed at the sleeves of his cloak. He waited until Geralt turned to look at him again. This time when their eyes connected, Geralt was frozen. He felt a spirit dip deep into his mind and tap against his soul like a quill in an inkwell.

 _“Fifteen seconds detention for you,”_ Dettlaff stated ominously. _“There is no use in running anymore, witcher. When will you learn?”_

The influence of Dettlaff’s voice compelled Geralt to stay. Geralt wavered on his feet and staggered again. Like that, the higher vampire was gone. By some sweet, accidental mercy, Geralt was alone. He reached back just as his legs clipped with the edge of a desk. Pain surged up his body, and it was enough to begin a small crack in the vampire’s spell. He battled internally to get Dettlaff’s voice out of his head and remove that lingering claw dug into his soul. In the peripheral of his senses, he could detect the nearing threat of the yardstick _slap,_

_slap,_

_slapping_ closer _._

Geralt shook his head with a soft growl. He managed to break the charm, but he knew that he now had seconds to get out of here. He ran for the door and found that it was locked. _Locked._ When the handle finally gave under his hold, he felt the door start to push towards him. He jumped backwards, creating as much distance as he possibly could before the door was thrown open. Regis, the other higher vampire in this hellsih game, came towards him with single minded focus. Regis’ face was contorted with severe disappointment, bordering on mild anger. And anger wasn’t an emotion Regis gave himself to easily.

However, what was also uncharacteristic (but actually beneficial for Geralt) was that Regis did not take advantage of his powers when he had the chance. He didn’t close the space with mist or speed; he didn’t even try to toss aside the desks now keeping him and Geralt separate. Unlike Dettlaff, Regis preferred to pursue in a human like fashion. He stalked towards Geralt as if he were a mute hunter. His eyes were focused unblinkingly on the witcher, and it left Geralt feeling threatened and ill at ease.

Even still, Geralt watched Regis’ movements, waiting for an opportunity to escape. Thankfully, Regis was the only thing between him and freedom. He purposely walked backwards, continuously cursing Dandelion’s name and legacy in his mind as he did. Because Regis lacked both his usual sense and wit, he merely followed Geralt’s movements without hesitation, curving around the desks silently. _Slap, slap._ Geralt couldn’t help but wonder if the yardstick was leaving behind a reddened mark on Regis’ palm. It was an ever present beat that, if listened to too closely for too long, changed the pace of Geralt’s heart. It was a hypnotising rhythm, but Geralt kept himself from falling under yet another charm. He threw himself to the left and climbed over the row of desks. Now that there was space between him and Regis, he bolted out of the overseer’s office. He quickly looked left and right before backtracking the way he came.

He swore he heard a low, warning growl, but again, he didn’t stop to think on it.

Geralt navigated the halls with varying degrees of speed. The slapping grew faster with every note he found. The witcher cursed and ran. When words in common failed him, he dusted off his rusty knowledge of other languages and borrowed words from them instead.

Surprisingly, out of all the antagonistic forces in this school, Geralt found something like an ally. A rigid, misshapen golem pushed him along the halls, going at extraordinary speeds on the straight aways but turning painfully slow on the turns. As the golem was making one such debilitating turn, Geralt held his breath as the mimic creature slid out of one hall and into the one he was on. It giggled gleefully before turning to the right away from the witcher. It hadn’t noticed him at all. Geralt gave himself a fraction of a second to feel relieved. Afterward, he pulled himself away from the golem and _ran_. He took the right hall the mimic emerged from, and the golem sped past him. It turned its head almost mournfully, watching Geralt as it raced forward. He gave a nod to the creature before finding another classroom.

More questions, another set of puzzles. The last spell broke, and an unnervingly calm voice sounded all around him. The volume was deafening and inescapable. Geralt shrank away, trying to lower himself to the ground, away from the sound, but the school was so empty. The brick walls were nothing more than amplifiers to bounce the voice around. He rushed into the halls in a crouched position. It was even worse out here. He felt like his ear drums were close to bursting.

 _“Get out while you still can!”_ the voice suddenly shrieked, and Geralt could barely make out the hastened slapping of the yardstick under the ugly laughter that followed. He curled his fists against his ears before tearing down another corridor. He was moving blindly. He had the sudden suspicion that every force in the school, ally or not, would suddenly be gunning for him with clear intent. He hadn’t seen anything to confirm that yet, but his instincts just _knew_.

Sure enough as soon as Geralt came to another intersection, he saw Regis appear in the middle of the hall in the span of a blink. Geralt choked on a noise – a name – but he let it go and hightailed it in the other direction. He swore to himself in Rivian and wondered if he could get a sorceress to curse Dandelion’s dick for a little while. Six months, maybe even a year.

Geralt found the first exit. As he threw himself towards it, the door turned into a wall. He grunted when his body met bricks, and the halls around him were bathed in an eerie red hue. In ordinary circumstances, he would have rolled his eyes. The creator of this horrible trick must have thought that red was supposedly scary. However, this wasn’t an ordinary _anything_. Geralt’s instincts were screaming at him to get out, much as that disembodied voice had. And there was one other problem. Accompanying the red tinge was a sound. There was some… _frequency_ in the air that rattled him down to his bones. His teeth chattered without him wanting them to, and Geralt’s heart was doing something bizarre and nondescript. It only fueled his need to get the hell out of here.

He found and ran towards another exit. This time, he only grazed his fingers against it, figuring that it was going to be another ruse. As he thought, the door suddenly shifted into a wall. He didn’t waste a moment. He just kept going. The next exit had the same outcome, and there was only one last thing he could think of.

As he turned around, his heart leapt into his throat. Regis was gaining on him, and Dettlaff was stalking towards him as well. Red and black smoke curled against the ceiling as Dettlaff began shaping into his humanoid form again. Geralt looked to the intersecting corridor on the left, but he didn’t think he’d be able to make it. He slammed his fist back against the wall and charged forward anyway.

The two vampires became close enough that, within a few moments, Geralt would be able to touch them. Dettlaff reached out for him, but Regis was just a hair ahead. Geralt bleakly wondered what his options were, but another golem construction—far simpler and better built than the other—whipped around the corner as it exclaimed its enthusiasm for cleaning. Regis and Dettlaff were astonished as they were suddenly swept down the hall. For a moment, it seemed as if they were themselves. Unfortunately, Geralt knew it wouldn’t be long before Detlaff regained his senses and misted after him. Seeing his opening, he left the corridor, heading towards the dining hall.

The rattling was even worse here. From what Geralt knew, this was the last exit in the entire school, and if this disappeared on him too, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with himself. He was without his weapons and decoctions, so he would probably just fall to this game for all entirety. Geralt hated the thought of it.

He reached out for the final door and pressed his palm against it. To his delight, the door stayed a door. He reached down for the handle and wrenched it downward. Pushing outward, he was greeted by a sudden, all-consuming warmth. It reminded him of Skellige’s unyielding humidity, but he welcomed it. He was thrown into a daze as he exited. He felt lightheaded, and his stomach felt hollow and weak.

Geralt collapsed in a heap on the floor, unable to keep himself standing. He braced his hands against the ground to break his fall. The shock of the impact rattled him back into a normal state of mind. The first thing he realised was that there was a familiar weight on his back. His swords! He shook himself a bit and felt the blades waggle somewhat in their holster. Relief flooded through him. He assumed the rest of his supplies were with him as well, but he’d check in a bit.

Not too long after his discovery did he hear bodies hit the ground to his left and right. There was a deep, inhuman groan like a dying bear, and then the ground shook under him. Geralt managed to push himself up onto his knees. He looked over his shoulder and saw the heap of materials the golems were made from on the ground. The mimic was reduced to a tiny, featureless child-sized doll with its previous clothing. The skip rolled now tangled around its inorganic owner.

     It was finally fucking over. Geralt didn’t take any time to rejoice. He looked to the higher vampires on his sides before saying, “‘ey.” He waited a moment, and the vampires roused with a soft groan. “You two plan on getting up anytime soon?”

     “Must you already be so insufferable?” Dettlaff groused as he rocked on his back. He eventually managed to turn onto his side.

     Regis was already, slowly pushing himself up onto his forearms. His eyes opened slowly, and he glared down at the floor. “Now, now, Dettlaff,” he started. His already rough voice was scratchy and breathless. He didn’t try to continue his thoughts.

     Geralt smirked slightly as he watched Dettlaff. “Good to see you’re in good form,” he said blithely.

     “Care to explain, Geralt?” Regis groaned as he sat up.

Geralt reached over to help steady him. Dettlaff’s head was ducked, and he stayed on his side. He braced his weight with a forearm and a hand on a ground. Geralt looked over, wondering if he should help, but Dettlaff tipped his head up ever so slightly. Their eyes met. Geralt felt some small part of himself recoil in horrified anticipation. There was no compulsion, no quill in the well. He let out an easy breath and knew that he would have to talk about that at some point. Later, very much not right now.

     “First,” Geralt led, “do you want to find the sorcerer or hear a story?”

     “Sorcerer,” Dettlaff all but barked. He pushed himself up. This time, Geralt didn’t even think about helping.

     “I agree,” Regis added. As the two vampires stood, Geralt rose with them. “We’ve to nip this in the bud.”

     “First, the sorcerer,” Geralt said. “And then Dandelion.”

     Regis raised his brows. “Dandelion, you say?” He quickly looked troubled. “Oh dear. Looks like he’s landed us in a web of trouble.”

     “I’ve yet to hear a thing about this _Dandelion_ that doesn’t involve an encounter of some sort,” Dettlaff said flatly. By now, Geralt learned to pick out the select emotions Detlaff subtly threaded in his words. As if second nature by now, he proverbially plucked and found disdain.

     “I’ll explain in a bit after we deal with the _current_ nuisance,” the witcher said.

     “Just so,” Regis replied diplomatically, though there was a touch of exasperation in his voice.

Geralt turned. Detlaff and Regis mirrored him.

     “Shall we then?” Dettlaff prompted.

Geralt did a quick search over his person. Poultices, decoctions, herbs, and his meager supply of dried meats were all on him. As they should have been. He reached up and back for his swords and brushed his fingers over the familiar hilts. Everything was there.

     Dropping his hand, he nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”


End file.
